There's No Special Providence in the Fall of a Sparrow
by Terminal Nostalgia
Summary: After seeing the same eight men die every day for three years, Demoman had started to notice certain patterns. Like the way Sniper always died quietly.


**Based off of art by AlexKingOfTheDamned/Fortress of the Damned on Tumblr.**

After seeing the same eight men die every day for three years, Demoman had started to notice certain patterns. Like the way the usually soft-spoken Engineer would always swear up a storm when he was left bleeding out on the ground. Or the way Soldier would always go out with that big, mad grin of his, even when he was holding his own guts in his hands. Or the way Demoman himself would always try and take another enemy down with him, no matter how badly he was injured or how much it hurt.

Or the way Sniper always died quietly.

He never made a fuss. Like a cat, he'd drag himself off somewhere away from others so that he could die in peace. Demoman has asked him about that once. Just once. Sniper told him it was because he didn't want to bother Medic, and then changed the subject.

But he never changed that one habit. Even when the BLU Spy picked up on it and took full advantage. Time and time again he'd leave Sniper with fetal injuries that would take him a long, long time for him to die from, knowing it'd keep him out of the battle for long stretches at a time.

And even when he was dying from two gunshot wounds. For real this time. There were no health packs here, in this flooding little nation. No respawn to whisk him away and back to life. No Medic who'd deign to help him. Just a one-eyed man who'd never felt so sober in his life, doing all he could to stop his team mate from a death by drowning while his blood pooled into the water around them.

Maybe it'd be a mercy to allow Sniper to slip into the waves below. After four or five minutes, it'd all be over. Simple as that.

Demoman tightened his grip on Sniper. He just couldn't do it.

'Come on, mate, just hold on for me, will you?' he pleaded.

All around him was chaos and shouting and threats. Nobody but Demoman seemed to be paying any attention to the man growing gradually more pale and limp in his arms. Maybe they hadn't realised both shots had hit Sniper. Maybe they were too busy worrying about their own hides to spare any time for their dying team mate. Maybe they'd simply forgotten that they were out in the real world now, and there was no respawn to catch them here.

Demoman hadn't felt this helpless since that night he'd watched his parents die as a result of his own mistakes.

'Sniper...'

His vision began to blur as tears filled his vision in his one good eye.

This wasn't fair. Medic was there. Right there. Grinning down at them like a malevolent god. He had the power to save Sniper. He had it clutched right there in his hands. And trained on the men who'd just shot Sniper.

'Come on, boyo...'

Sniper gazed up at the Scot through pain-hazed eyes, but didn't seem to really see him.

And still, he was so horribly, so painfully silent.

Demoman didn't have a hand free to wipe away the tears now coursing down his cheeks. They welled up under his eyepatch and escaped out of the side. He hadn't even known his left tear duct still worked. And he'd never wanted to have a reason to find out.

It was getting harder and harder to keep hold of Sniper. The man was too far gone to support any of his own weight now. His breathing was coming out in stuttering, bubbly rasps. The blood was swirling all around them now so thickly that it tinted the water a reddish-brown. It wouldn't be long now.

'You gotta get up lad.'

Demoman could barely keep Sniper's head above the rising tide. His body hung in Scot's arms like a marionette with all its strings cut.

Sniper's lips moved, mouthing something Demoman's couldn't hear over everything going on around them.

'Sorry,' they seemed to say.

'Sorry.'

Then a long sigh escaped him. He didn't draw in another breath.

And no one noticed.

All around Demoman, the chaos continued. The leader of their attackers was bellowing orders. Soldier was screaming insults back at him and Zhanna was shouting insults in Russian. Spy was gripping Miss Pauling's shoulder tightly, muttering plans to her fervently. Pyro was waving an axe around threateningly. And Medic was keeping a respectful eye on his new boss, ignoring his ex-team mates entirely.

Demoman tried to say something. Tried to tell them that while they were all so busy bickering and planning and posturing, their team mate had died. But the tight lump in his throat blocked the words, and all that came out was a strangled little sob.

Because no one had noticed.

And no one cared.

Sniper's parents were dead.

Those hacks who claimed to be his real parents had abandoned him.

There just nine people in the who world who should have cared. And of them, two were elsewhere, one was missing, one had turned traitor and four of them were too busy worrying about themselves to realise what had happened.

That left just Demoman to mourn, clutching at the limp body of his late team mate. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he couldn't stand to let Sniper go.

If things went the way it looked like they were going to go, him and the others wouldn't be around much longer either. But at least Demoman's mum would miss him. And his drinking buddies. And his work mates. And his talking broadsword.

But the Sniper?

There was no one else out there that would ever know he had died, let alone care.

Demoman didn't know which was heavier, that knowledge or the man's corpse. Both weighed down on him as he continued to cry and the waves continued to rise. And still no one noticed. But then again, maybe it was no real surprise.

Sniper always died so quietly.


End file.
